


gone in the dark

by nanadoongie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Jaemin likes to kill, M/M, References to Depression, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanadoongie/pseuds/nanadoongie
Summary: "Your hands are pretty.", Jeno added, now hungrily looking at his somewhat fruity drink that the bartender placed in front of him, which Jaemin, yet again, found annoying. "Too much enthusiasm", he thought. "Too excited for a situation like that."He looked at his own hands. They were pale in the weak yellow light of the bar. He found it funny how Jeno, innocently, complimented his hands as a way of making small talks. The same hands he injected grams after grams of cocaine in. The same hands he held people's money and belongings with. The same hands he used, just an hour ago, to take someone's life. how funny.
Relationships: Lee Jeno & Na Jaemin, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Kudos: 36





	gone in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kihyunie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kihyunie/gifts).



"Those who are unhappy clutch at shadows, and to give themselves an enjoyment that truth refuses them, they artfully bring into being all sorts of illusions." - Marquis de Sade, The Crimes of Love

The downtown area around Gimpo is a dangerous place after dark. Light-less, stinky, urine-stained streets and alleys were a good place for colorful legions of thieves, crackheads, muggers, junkies and alcoholics to trot. It is almost like a filth festival – a feast for dirty-faced people to display their dark sides ostentatiously. If glamorous Seoul with it's beautiful shiny city lights had an asshole, the downtown area around Gimpo would definitely be it.

It was from this place that he came, nameless and nocturnal. He always wore black, with the brim of a black baseball cap pulled down low; even his socks and shoes were black. Thus attired, he moved about in the shadows, taking long steps – but not hurried enough to attract attention.

The man in black was walking on the sidewalk, not paying attention to the world around him. Cool late-autumn-night breeze made him shiver for he had only a black T-Shirt on, with a red 'Pacific' written in front of it. He looked dirty and unsettling by any measure, his dead eyes scanning the street carefully even though his mind wasn't present.

the neighborhood he was walking in was a polar opposite of what he was used to, to which he called home. every step he took was another living proof that this part of town was not his scene, that he is hiding behind a mask, that he doesn't belong.

All the glitz and glam couldn't possibly attract his attention. his mind was elsewhere. He felt alive. He could still feel the warm pulse under his fingers, the power of having had a human being in his total control. He loved it. He loved being in charge. He loved seeing people suffer. He felt alive.

Usually he went back home after he had done something like that to get his rock, but tonight he had extra money to spare. Crumbled bills he took out of the girl's purse, when he was about to take her life felt heavy in his pocket. He could celebrate that sense of success in a bar uptown.

Happiness – or in his words, ecstasy - wasn’t something he could put his hands on easily. He was generally a troubled youngster, making wrong decisions like troubled youngsters do, never fully satisfied with himself.

There were transient hotels downtown that rented rooms for so little a night, no questions asked, no ID necessary. Those were some places he’d go and binge on cocaine for several days straight, not eating or sleeping, answerable only to his addiction and the hot winds of his psychosis. That was his little ecstatic state, the happiness he sank himself in.

Alcohol, on the other hand, never really tasted good to him. He just liked the way it burned his throat. He wasn't used to bars like that. People sitting together, sipping their expensive drinks in a calm atmosphere, making small talks oftentimes. What he was used to was "The Black Alley", an alleyway somewhere behind the terminal. He would cop cheap, dark-colored beer and disgusting vodka from Sung, a skinny, weird-looking dude who sold everything– Alcohol, marijuana, pure rock in the dark alleys behind the terminal that had no lamps. He would drink it right there, rats scurry about, not happy about his presence.

“I wouldn’t drink it plain.” He didn’t even bother turning to look at the young boy who appeared out of nowhere right behind him. That was one thing - out of a thousand other - he hated about uptown. People gave themselves the utmost right to meddle in everyone’s business. Downtown wasn’t like that. There, people who moved through the underground empire of degradation and crime minded their own business. It was an easy place to get lost in.

The boy clearly didn’t mind his silence; for he sat next to him and pointed at the bartender who got to work silently. Jaemin concluded he must’ve been a regular. Not that he cared, it was just that he was used to paying attention to the smallest details. The boy smelled like something Jaemin wasn’t used to, something that smelled expensive to him. He had glanced at him only once when he entered the bar and with that single look, he noticed the boy’s faded-blue hair that seemed damaged even from afar, and his hoodie. His black hoodie that was slightly oversized, hugging his slender figure.

"I'm Jeno", said the boy, leaning a little towards Jaemin. Jaemin breathed out heavily, not taking his eyes off his drink and the ice cubes floating in it, glowing under the orange light of the wall hanging lamp behind the bar. Jeno waited a heartbeat before starting again, pointing at the drink in front of Jaemin. "I wouldn't drink that plain."

Jaemin didn't respond. He raised his head though, curiously looking at the lamp. It was square-shaped with two sources of light in it, dusted and shabby. One would think it was cheap, but Jaemin learned his lessons well on the streets – just because something looks rusty doesn't necessarily mean it's not valuable.

"Your hands are pretty.", Jeno added, now hungrily looking at his somewhat fruity drink that the bartender placed in front of him, which Jaemin, yet again, found annoying. _"Too much enthusiasm"_ , he thought. _"Too excited for a situation like that."_

He looked at his own hands. They were pale in the weak yellow light of the bar. He found it funny how Jeno, innocently, complimented his hands as a way of making small talks. The same hands he injected grams after grams of cocaine in. The same hands he held people's money and belongings with. The same hands he used, just an hour ago, to take someone's life. _how funny._

He turned, for the first time, to directly face Jeno. There was no sign of amusement in his face and Jeno must've caught that too because he frowned a little before smiling again.

Jaemin found himself getting angry for some unknown reasons. The rage was spreading in his vains quickly, devouring him completely. Rage was an emotion Jaemin was used to. It was something he often felt for no reason at all, so much he didn't know how to project into anything. Rage was an old friend, creeping in every once in a while to keep him company on the cold, lonely streets of downtown. Rage was the only friend Jaemin had, the only thing Jaemin was really comfortable with.

Something about these people – their lives and their behavior and who they were – made him mad. The way they acted like nothing is wrong, the way they acted like happiness is just around the block. These people knew nothing. Their fake gestures meant nothing.

Jaemin stared at Jeno for some time, not saying anything. People, usually, found his gaze uncomfortable. Jaemin counted that as his superpower – his human-annoyer tool. Jeno, on the other hand, didn't seem fazed. He sipped on his drink, licking his lips afterwards before looking back at Jaemin. "I'm serious, It's disgusting. Try this one."

He slowly pushed his drink closer to Jaemin who was sitting there, amazed for a second, by the fact that Jeno was actually offering him his drink. _"Weirdo"_ , he thought. He clenched his jaw, quickly taking his eyes off of Jeno who was expectedly looking at him. _"Fucking weirdo."_

Jaemin took a large sip. A weird, mellow music was playing in the background, someone was talking in a hushed tone on the phone. Jaemin was hot, he was bored. People uptown were dense. They were boring.

He placed his empty glass down, knocking twice on the counter to get the bartender's attention. Jeno tried once more, looking pitifully at his drink. "You don't like strawberries?"

"No.", Jaemin said, fierce and to the point. Jeno murmurd a "Mhm." and cupped his tender hands around his glass, touching the cool surface absentmindedly. Jaemin found his movements swift yet soft, like he cared about everything he touched. He pressed his lips together. Being in a place like that was supposed to bring him a sense of success, not the annoyance he felt every time he watched people like Jeno.

Jeno's enthusiasm reminded him of how enthusiastic he himself was when they moved to Gimpo. There was a thirty-minutes walk from their place, somewhere close to terminal, to Han River, majestic and beautiful as always. He would often go there alone, sometime before sunset, to pick up some rocks. Sharper ones, prettier ones. He remembered how he went to watch other kids play in the small park close to the terminal. _Pathetic times._

Na Jaemin was the only child born to Na family. They married in 1997 and soon they had Jaemin — or Jaemni, as the family affectionately called him. His childhood wasn't the worst, his father worked at a construction site while his mom was a teacher. Typical low-income family, living in the industrial suburbs of Seoul. Jaemin could've been a happy child. He could've been happy.

"What's your name?", asked Jeno, hands still loosely around the glass. Jaemin didn't know why, but he whispered a hoarse answer in return. "Jaemin."

Jeno smiled wide. Jaemin noticed his eyes faded into pretty crescents. He seemed genuine when he smiled. Little moons prettily hanging from the sky. Pretty boy happily sipping his drink.

"Nice to meet you Jaemin. You looked badass so I thought I'd say hi."

Jaemin was happy when he was young. He had a toy robot he called Ruby. He liked to play football under the bridge. He was doing well at school. He was good at video games, better than anyone he knew. He was happy when his father wasn't beating him.

His father was an extremely serious man who rarely smiled. He had a perpetually stern face with dark, piercing eyes and tight, firm lips — traits he had inherited from his own father, a large, brutal man with a bad temper who often beat his kids whether they misbehaved or not. Jaemin too, had those eyes. Those dark eyes that were always analyzing. He looked a lot like his dad; both appearance and behavior wise.

Jaemin was a lonely kid. He learned to always be on his own on the streets when the only companions are coke and prostitutes. He rarely talked and when he did, he talked through clenched teeth, in a hoarse, harsh whisper. No one says hi downtown. No one notices other people's hands if it's not to cop rock.

"Do you come here often?", he asked, almost immediately gasping afterwards. It was like someone else said that, someone who was screaming inside him, begging him to talk. To let go of the pain. To talk.

Jeno, beautiful Jeno who looked as amazed as Jaemin was, faced him happily. His cheekbone was highlighted with the yellowish glow of the lamps. Pretty Jeno who smiled, once again, before nodding. "Yes. And as a regular I still think you need to try this cocktail; whether you like strawberries or not."

This was not what he wanted to say. This wasn't the kind of conversation he wanted to have. Jeno was cute – Jaemin had to give him that – and for the first time, meeting a cute boy was not making him mad. He was relaxed, almost too relaxed sitting next to Jeno. He was almost forgetting who he was and what he did.

He shook his head no. No, he didn't want to taste the disgustingly delicious looking drink. No, he didn't want to have this conversation anymore. No, he had to go.

Jaemin got up, trying his best not to look at Jeno who was looking at him like he wanted him to stay. Clenching his fists, he walked to the bartender, now mixing a green drink. He took some crumpled bills – her bills – out of his pocket and smashed it on the counter. The bartender didn't even look up from his drink. He must've been used to angry costumers like that.

He stepped out of the bar, cool air brushing against his face. He shivered a little, walking down the deserted street. Dawn was slowly filling a sad, tranquil sky. The horizon in the east was a deep indigo above big, puffy clouds that were stitched with the fiery threads of the rising sun. It was the 'golden hour', when there is no glare in the air and color and dimension are sharper and more defined. People were on their way to early-morning jobs. Jaemin was walking slowly, this time like he had all time in the world. He looked at the sky above, at the clouds, carelessly floating like there's nothing that upsets them. He breathed in. The air felt fresh in his lungs. Sparrows and finches chirped in trees that lined the block. He walked toward the corner. A car honked in the distance. He had a long walk ahead to downtown. Jaemin sighed. He was going home.

**Author's Note:**

> this is what happens when a true crime enthusiast tries to write something. It took me weeks to write this, this pointless, failed attempt to create something delicate enough worth publishing. This was also supposed to be a valentine's day gift for someone who showed me the way home; so dear user kihyunie, this one's for you!  
> for the longest time i was this unpurposeful lost soul, you showed me that there's always a home for everyone. that we should just seek and find it, and when we do we shall settle in and never let go.  
> there are troubled people living among us, unhappy souls who will never find their way home and remain forever lost. there are sad people in this world, bad people doing bad things. we cannot help everyone. we cannot make every single one of them a home. but, dear user kihyunie, YOU brought one back to life. i'm forever grateful.
> 
> and if, by any chance, anyone ever read this, please do know, sometimes smallest gestures can change someone's life completely. be kind.


End file.
